


Dragon Age drabbles

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Arlathan (Dragon Age), Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Tension, Shapeshifting, Smut, Sparring, Teasing, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2020-09-18 10:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: Some short stories and drabbles (often cross-posted on tumblr).Pairings Warden x Zevran; Warden x Inquisitor.





	1. Trembling hands (Vergil) sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Post Blight, Vigil's Keep  
Vergil works on perfecting the control of using blood magic.

The sword clattered noisily, when it hit the ground and Vergil swayed on his feet, letting the spell go.

Blood splattered on the floor and he felt sudden fatigue wash over him, making his head spin and forcing him to ungracefully sit down, his back painfully hitting the furniture behind him and making him let out a pitiful groan on the painful feeling of the impact.

He felt lightheaded, his skin covered in thin layer of cold sweat, breath coming in short and tired gasps. With trembling hands he reached to the top of the small table next to him, arms weak and fingers unusually clumsy, when he grasped the right bottle, almost knocking off other vials and dropping the one he held.

He uncorked the potion with his teeth, lips immediately latching onto the bottle, drinking so greedily that some of the rosy liquid started to run down his chin, down his neck and stained his shirt.

After he was done, he just tipped his head back and closed his eyes, not bothering with properly wiping his mouth at the moment.

Vergil concentrated on his breathing, slowly feeling the potion taking its effect and his muscles relaxing, the cold gradually leaving his hands and legs. He lazily opened his eyes, blinking few times to get rid of the fogginess, focusing on the bloody stain on the floor.

_ What went wrong this time? _

He was  _ so close _ to completing the spell, the durability and edge of the blood sword was nearly perfected and still, it took too much of his strength and concentration to hold it in the desired shape for long and without such effort.

He huffed, tongue tasting the remains of the potion on his lips, eyes narrowing in thought.

Perhaps, he should put less reflection on the mechanics of  _ how _ his blood should be working and more on the how it’s  _ feeling _ , manipulating it like he wished.

After all, it’s his own essence, straight from the source.

He believed he had the power to make the drop of his blood change into a weapon, so what exactly would stop him to try again? Vergil sighed deeply, limbs sprawled inelegantly. After he’d rest a bit, he had to write down the results, and then he’d try again.


	2. Falling (Vergil x Zevran) sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Blight  
Zevran teaches Vergil how to fight, hands on. The collection of Vergil's bruises increases greatly.

When they started their trainings on using weapons in battle, Vergil was aware that the daily number of bruises, aching muscles and limbs would raise.

And it appeared that he was correct, as he asked Zevran to not hold back during their practice.

His methods were cruel for some, but Vergil found coddling unnecessary - after all, darkspawns were ignorant of Vergil’s combat level, so if the only way to learn, how to swim was to plummet down into the depth of the ocean, so be it.

Their situation was to say lightly, dramatic, and the time was essential. So, any additional pains or discomforts, being the result of their routine training sessions, were worth it.

Even when there were days, when Vergil couldn’t see any progress, and what he felt in spades was frustration and an increase of physical suffering. There were days, when it seemed pointless. Days, when he had enough - of constant travel, battles, people he met and had to deal with. He was so often tired, irritated and revolted by mundane day-to-day tasks. In sporadic spikes of madness and hopelessness, he longed after simple luxuries of having a roof above his head, meal and a bed - he missed the tower.

But the moments were rare and in between. Vergil was stubborn. He wanted to, needed to be able to have an upper hand on his foes. He was also, usually, silent in his suffering, never complaining about the harsh treatment during trainings, focusing on studying Zevran’s movements and doing better.

It was a long and painful road, but he was an attentive student.

Vergil gritted his teeth and stood up slowly, catching his breath after one of the rough session Zevran had put him through. He carefully twisted his left arm, feeling the pangs of contusion in the shoulder and back. He must have looked spectacular when falling to the ground, after Zevran put out a move he hadn’t seen yet.

With Vergil ending on the ground.

Again.

In a real fight, he would be very dead. Or, bleeding freely on the dirt, thanks to the wound Zevran could inflict with a regular blade. And then, easily finished off, if his enemy would be as merciful as to grant him a swift death.

He let out a heavy sigh, putting his hand to his face and he scowled, when his fingers turned out bloody. His nose didn’t feel broken, though, he got one quick hit to the head. Zevran’s own way to teach him to pay attention properly, go for his face. He knew what was important to Vergil and the fleeting thought almost made him smile through a grimace. Almost.

“Why do you do this to yourself, dear Warden?” Vergil glanced at Zevran, the man looking perfectly relaxed. Few strands of his blonde hair had escaped the braid, the only proof of the exercise he put Vergil through. “You could easily rely only on your magic, if you choose so.” Zevran tossed one of the daggers he held in the air, effortlessly catching it by the hilt. “Some would say, you like to torture yourself.” Zevran’s voice was teasing, an easy smile on his lips, but his eyes were sharp. He repeated the dagger throwing few more times, without looking at the weapon.

“Show off.” Vergil’s sneer earned him a pleased grin. “I got the impression you like seeing me in the dirt. More often than not.” He huffed, holding in the painful groan, when he tried to straighten his back. He heard something popping in his spine, the sound of it as uncomfortable as the feeling it brought out. “And don’t say you don’t enjoy it, I won’t believe you.”

“You in the dirt?” Zevran’s laugh was short but full of mirth. “Certainly. But,” His smile didn’t lose it’s slyness. “You didn’t answer, as to why you persist with the trainings.” He tilted his head slightly. “Another Grey Wardens secret, perhaps?”

Vergil snorted lightly at the question. “Because I can.” He finally stood up properly with a quiet grunt and a grimace, feeling his back scream at him, more sore than it should be after such fall. He must have hit a rock or a root. “I can learn and I can train. It’s a choice I make for myself.” Vergil carelessly wiped the blood from his face, his eyes never leaving Zevran’s. “So, if I have a chance to use the resources to learn, why pass it?” He looked at Zevran, his gaze slowly and deliberately taking in the sight of a body before him. He stopped for a moment to watch the subtle play of muscles on Zevran’s thighs, as the man changed his stance a little, so the leather pieces of his armor parted smoothly, uncovering even more of that gorgeous skin. A deliberate strategy, one that had Vergil smirk back at Zevran when their eyes met again. “Though, I must say,” He stepped closer to the man. “The sight from down there isn’t as bad as one would have thought.”

“Should I wear less to keep you motivated during practice?” Zevran asked playfully. They haven’t touched yet, but the air between them felt charged. Vergil quirked a brow. “Should I match you in the lack of armor then?”

The question earned him a warm chuckle. “Such consideration, I’m touched.”

“Yes, I’m compassionate like that. And it means less dirt on my clothes to wash out.”

“Don’t be a pessimist, I’m sure you’ll start to finish our sparring lessons on your feet in no time.” Zevran paused for a moment, his honeyed tone not matching the impish glint appearing in his eyes. “Give it a year or five.” He snickered at Vergil’s brief scowl of irritation before the expression on his face changed to something more intense. Vergil’s gaze flickered to Zevran’s lips and Zevran was sure he’d be on him in a second, pouring the frustration of lost match into passionate kiss full of teeth and hunger for different kind of battle. Zevran kept his ground in anticipation, though, Vergil surprised him with taking a step back and him involuntarily following the motion with gentle sway of his body. Vergil looked more amused than he should, knowing.

“I’m filthy and sore and you,” He took few more steps away from Zevran. “Can make it up to me by joining me in a bath.” Few delicate wrinkles appeared between Vergil’s brows. “The water in the nearby pond shouldn’t be as toxic as in other swamps we encountered so far. Alistair hasn’t sprouted any suspicious rashes, yet.”

Zevran barked out a short laugh. “Then we should be good.” He said with a wink, walking towards Vergil. “I’ll make sure to be thoughtful in my help with getting you cleaned up, Vergil.”

“I won’t expect anything less from you.”


	3. Total control (Vergil x Aether) sfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aether belongs to @smolpocketmonstercoffee on tumblr (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

The party was in full swing by midnight, people dancing, drinking and mingling, though few persistent individuals still sought out potential business partners.

The amount of alcohol consumed by most definitely helped some with making the first step and starting up conversations, the outcome of them not always ending as intended at the start of them.

Vergil had his share of dealings and polite pleasantries for the night, and now he was blissfully left alone, swiftly scanning the lively crowd for his partner.

“There you are.” The voice came from his left, relieved and slightly out of breath, and when he turned to glance at Aether, he was met with the sight of tired but smiling emerald eyes. Vergil closed the small distance to gently put an arm around Aether’s waist, bringing him even closer, tipping his face down to brush his lips on Aether’s hair in fleeting kiss. The subtle sign of affection had the other man stiffen a bit in surprise, though he relaxed quickly into Vergil’s hold, his own hand coming to rest on one of the ornament buckles of Vergil’s coat.

“A guest of the event and still as busy as a host.” Vergil’s breath tickled Aether’s ear. “I think you deserve a break, Inquisitor.” Aether felt himself shiver lightly at the lowly purred words, tilting his head up to look Vergil in the eye, a small mischievous smile matching the one of his partner’s. “And I’m sure you would have some suggestions for it?”

“Indeed, I would.” The grin Vergil gave him was as quick as impish, amber gaze so focused on Aether’s face, making him feel a bit warmer. He felt the blush creeping slowly on his cheeks, intensified by Vergil’s words, murmured straight to his ear. “I suggest we retire to our chambers, where you spend as long as it would be needed on your knees, giving me a total control of how to proceed, until I am done with you and both of us are satisfied with the results.”

Vergil’s fingers on Aether’s waist squeezed harder for a moment, before he leaned back to watch the effect of his offer. “Ah, that’s the delicious look I missed all evening.” He commented, admiring the visibly flushed face and slightly glazed gaze of his partner, lover, who collected himself quickly with a small cough and straighter back.

“I think we are done here.” There was a slight rasp in Aether’s usually melodious voice. “I got tired of the gathering. Shall we?” He gestured at the exit and Vergil deftly grasped his hand, leaving a swift kiss on his wrist, before he gracefully maneuvered Aether’s arm to interlock with his own.

“Excellent idea, my dear Inquisitor.”


	4. Help (Vergil x Zevran) sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Blight  
Ferelden's winters are harsh.

The weather got worse during their travel and Vergil wrapped his cloak tighter.

He rubbed his hands together for warmth. Next gust of freezing wind made him shudder.

“I thought ice mages are immune to the cold?” The voice behind him was muffled, but nonetheless teasing.

Vergil turned and glanced at Zevran, his face half hidden in the collar of his fur coat.

“Yes, just like fire mages are nonflammable.” That made Zevran pause for a moment. “Are they?” He stood near Vergil, arms hidden under his cloak.

Vergil’s lips twitched slightly. “You have to catch one, throw them to the fire, and find out for yourself.”

Zevran narrowed his eyes at Vergil. “Really.” He risked putting out his mouth from the safety of his high collar. He hastily fixed the mistake, when he felt half of his face nearly freezed over. Now Vergil watched him with open amusement, though he too tried to make himself safe from the wind when he pulled on the hood of his cloak.

“By this logic, assassins should be unaffected by the poisons.”

“Most of them are.”

“And the knives?” Vergil quipped innocently with a tiny smirk.

Zevran let out a small chuckle. “I guess no one is truly knife-resistant.” He rolled his shoulders to better adjust the fur cloak.

Vergil hummed. “Then you have your answer about the fire mages and their capability of endurance of being on fire.”

“Does that mean that certain ice mage would be in need of warming up?”

The question made Vergil snort a half laugh. He gazed at Zevran’s face, his mouth hidden, but the mirth was visible in his eyes.

“Sooner than you would think.” He purred.


	5. Witch and Shapeshifter (Aether x Vergil) sfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble for Shrieker Witch!Aether & Shapeshifter Cat!Vergil AU (WTNC setting)
> 
> Aether belongs to @smolpocketmonstercoffee on tumblr (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

The black cat uncurled slowly, stretching his back and sat up on the windowsill. He glanced at the street, further down the path, leading to the small house he was in. It was so bright outside. Pupils in his amber eyes turned into thin slits in mere moments.

For few minutes, he was sitting still, staring out of the window, nearly without blinking. His tail flicked in subtle annoyance, ears twitching delicately.

The only sounds he could hear were the ones of an empty house.

Creak of wood on the floors, rustle of curtains near slightly opened window, gentle swish of herbs - bundles of them hung neatly to dry and for quick use above Aether’s workspace. The cat heard something more then, unhurriedly turning his head from the window, eyes slightly narrowing. A sound not fitting. And as soon as he focused on hearing it, the noise stopped. Then, after a short pause, it was there again. A gentle scribble of very small claws. Looks like a mice problem has returned. Or it could be a rat. The black cat blinked lazily and yawned. He will take care of it.

But later.

In one elegant move he leaped from the windowsill onto the floor, his paws softly touching the ground. He took few more steps towards the wardrobe and between heartbeats, shifted.

Instead of a black cat, there was standing a tall, lithe build man, his skin pale. A slight grimace marred his face, amber eyes calculating. The shift still wasn’t as it should be. The pain of transformation lingered in his joints and bones for longer than it usually would. Also, it took seconds too long.

He sighed, opening the wardrobe and looking at clothes. His next visit to the well should be last, he thought absently, choosing an outfit Aether liked seeing him in.

But, as his research had shown, the last well was far away, few days of travel in one direction. Plus, the time he would have to spend at the well, draining its power to help him stabilize his magical core.

One more time.

He hoped it would be the last time he will have to leave Aether for so long. Vergil looked at the small mirror on wardrobe’s door, finishing putting the clothes on.

He was satisfied with the result, but then his mind turned again to approaching the topic of his soon travel with Aether.

The Shriek didn’t take to separation so well last time. The salty smell of tears and misery, greeting Vergil upon his return. Aether probably thought he abandoned him, spiralling down into worry and grief.

Vergil let out a small huff at the thought, his chest feeling a little too tight at the memory of sadness and relief oozing from the witch. And then, long hours of making sure the other is there.

As he would willingly leave him at this point. There was too much happening between them, too many things tying Vergil to Aether.

Not bothering to tie his long black hair, he made his way to the main doors, his moves silent and full of subtle feline grace. He paused for a moment, a shadow of hesitation passing over his face.

Then, his features smoothed into more neutral expression, fists uncurled. And he opened the doors, stepping outside.

Onto the bright path.

He had a certain witch to spot on the market, patrolling Hunters be damned.


	6. Demon AU (Aether x Vergil) sfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A soul-turned-demon from ancient Arlathan finds his lost beloved.
> 
> Visalin - Vergil  
Athimelgara / Athe - Aetherius / Aether
> 
> Aether belongs to @smolpocketmonstercoffee on tumblr (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

** _Now_ **

It was the smile Aether had on his face that undone Era’harel.

Something in his chest twisted and ache spread from its centre, his limbs suddenly heavy and like not his own.

This soft, little smile, holding the promise of secrets only  _ he _ could unravel.

Emerald eyes gentle and looking at him with pure amusement.

Emerald eyes widening slightly with alarm, the expression on Aether's face changing into the one of confused worry.

“What’s wrong? Why… _why are you crying?_” The disbelief in his voice easily heard.

Era’harel’s sight blurred with tears pouring down.

Uncontrollably.

His disguise slipped and his eyes turned black.

_ Have you ever seen a demon cry? This one is weeping for you, Aetherius. _

* * *

** _Then_ **

The news on the disturbance in the Temple were a murmur at the beginning. He heard snippets of it, few words here and there and didn’t make anything of it, carrying on with his own duties. It was nearing dawn and he was nearly done with work, when one of his acquaintances brought the information - there was an attack on Mythal’s Temple and there seem to be casualties.

The Temple itself is cut off from the world by some kind of a barrier and even Eluvians, with the paths to it, are blocked.

He felt like his blood froze in his veins.

* * *

It took some time, until he reached the Temple. He used any trick known to him to get there as fast as he had been able to. The signs of any barriers absent.

Living walking among the fallen, searching the floor for someone they have known.  All of the dead looked like asleep. But unmoving, the rise and fall of their chests gone.

He found him near the entrance, lying beside a wall. The oil from broken vial, he usually carried when on duty, forming a glossy halo.  He would recognize his fair hair everywhere.

The sliky strands braided by Visalin this evening, before they parted.

_ Maybe he is simply unconscious _ , he thought, steps heavy. He kneeled beside him, not paying attention to the oil dampening his clothes. Slowly moving his hand to the other’s neck, his magic letting him know before his touch would. His hand curled on the back of Athimelgara head, lifting it gently off the hard stone floor.

It was heavy, like only a lifeless one could be.  He held back a noise, swallowing the bile in his throat.

“Athimelgara.” He rasped, voice cracking slightly with emotion. “Wake up, love.”

Visalin brushed away few strands from the other’s eyes.

Closed.

Peaceful looking.  Skin on his face pale and without his natural glow.  Visalin’s eyes burned with unspilled tears.

“Athe.”

_ Just a little more. _

“Wake up and tell me.” He whispered against the blonde’s temple. “Tell me who did this to you.”

_ In a moment. _

_ His eyes will open slowly, blinking away the sleep and he will smile drowsily at him, and Visalin will come down for a kiss, soft and warm, and… _

He couldn’t contain the sob anymore, the skin under his feverish lips cold,  _ so cold. _ And the tears started to fall, the numbness of despair spreading and paralyzing him. He clinged to the body in his arms, hiding his own face in the other’s neck, hopelessly seeking the pulse.

Then a thought.

_ The necklace with gem stone. _

Sight blurred, he searched under the neckline of Athimelgara’s robes, fingers stiff and clumsy. Until he found it, the soul gem. Cool to the touch and _soundless._

With a sliver of hope, he poured his magic, seeking for an answer of  _ so _ familiar magic signature.  And found none.  The gem was empty.

He tried again, even if the rational part of his muddled by emotions mind told him, that he wasn’t mistaken the first time.

The soul gem was empty.

Whatever killed his beloved, somehow interrupted the transfer process.

It should _not_ be possible. It should work, both of them made sure the magic would work properly and their essences would stay safe inside the gem. Until the other could use it to heal the body and put the soul back.

Athimelgara’s soul was wandering the Beyond with no way to be located.

Lost to him.

He held his heart, the light of his life, unmoving, in his arms.

Wishing the cold radiating from the body, he was clinging onto tightly, to turn  _ back _ into the warmth.

Instead he felt raw pain of his own soul breaking into pieces.

He wished he was  _ nothing. _

* * *

If he could, he would find the amusement in the situation. Viciously fighting for his life, when he desperately wanted to perish. Being surrounded by the one’s, he thought he could trust.

How bold and ultimately stupid of him, the keeper of secrets and knowledge.

He would laugh, if he would have enough breath to spare.

That would be his end, he knew it. And he would take as many with him as he could. The only thing, on which his mind was stubborn to clutch on, were the words of his attackers.

_ “You know too much, thus you have to die.” _

But which piece of knowledge made him a target? It would be forever a mystery.

* * *

Time goes differently when one is a spirit. The Fade nearly unchanging.

With one violent disturbance to the Beyond all this time ago, when new spirits flooded it, crying about lives unjustly lost, about blood and war and terror.

When the Veil came and twisted the landscape, chaos from the world of living spreading uncontrollably, tainting gentle and peaceful spirits.

Taking away their chance of being reborn again.

And then demons appeared in numbers not known until now, born from the poisonous emotions and tangled wishes, with new purposes and desires.

And the hunt has begun.

With the will to prevail and keep on with the search of its Heart, one spirit turned himself willingly, abandoning the Purpose for Desire.

Becoming the hunter instead of the prey.

Using any means necessary to  _ be. _

* * *

Desire looked up from his spot, senses suddenly alarmed, catching on a familiar signature.  Memory of it buried deep down, nearly forgotten after all this time.  But never left behind for good.  The signature burned like a beacon in the distance. The part of the Fade Desire mostly avoided.

He stood like a statue, almost drunk on the joy he was feeling. After all of waiting and chase of impossible, he finally could sense-

The signature disappeared, like flame blown away.

Disbelief.

_ Want. _

Sorrow.

_ Want. _

Rage.

_ WANT. _

Lesser demons fled upon hearing the roar of utter fury coming from Desire’s domain.

* * *

** _Before Now_ **

His palms cradled the precious face gently, cautious for the delicate skin of his beloved. Their foreheads touching, any background noises forgotten thanks to the shield he created. To prevent others in interrupting such intimate moment, where he whispered the words of longing and delight he felt upon reuniting with his Heart.

But it was wrong.

His Heart could not hear, could not understand him.

Eyes wide and frightened.

Shivering slightly under his touch.

His Heart did not recognize him.

His Heart was  _ terrified  _ of his presence.

Reborn but without access to memories.

It pained Desire to let his Heart go, but the distance would soothe the distress.

And if being an observer would be the only thing he would be allowed, he will take it.

Just to be near his Heart.

His Athimelgara.

Keeping him safe and unharmed, nothing more important than his well being.

Desire would stand back and watch. Name himself Era’harel, something for mortals to call him as.

And he had something mortals tended to lose easily.

Patience and time.


	7. Arlathan AU (Aether x Vergil) nsfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visalin - Vergil  
Athimelgara / Athe - Aetherius / Aether
> 
> Aether belongs to @smolpocketmonstercoffee on tumblr (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Sometimes, Visalin gets easily distracted when Athimelgara’s skin is on display, especially when it’s just a glimpse when they’re dressing up to an outing. There’s a gathering they’re both hosts of and to wear a fine attire is a given. His mistake was to let his eyes wander when Athe’s bathrobe has fallen onto the ground and he casually started changing into his clothes, humming softly under his breath, glancing at himself in full body mirror as he goes with gauzy pieces of his costume. He asks Visalin for help with fastenings at his back when their gazes lock in the mirror and Visalin  _ knows _ they will run late.

Caress of his fingertips at bare skin, tracing constellations of freckles is just an excuse to touch him more and one thing leads to other, parts of Athe’s elegant attire falling open instead of closed. Visalin rests his palms at the small of his back, thumbs fitting at dips above Athe’s butt and all he needs to do is  _ think  _ and his fingers are wet when he eases them into him. Athe shivers but pushes back on his hand, gasping quietly and Visalin’s lips brush Athe’s temple with murmured praises. His mouth latches to spot under his ear, fingers pressing in all right places he can reach at the moment. 

Athe’s back is on display, arms gripping rich frame of the mirror when Visalin starts to push inside his welcoming heat. Puffs of his breath fog the mirror, his mouth opened in a throaty moan. Unashamed and loud, something Visalin rewards him with hand curling under his jaw, tilting his head back and sucking on the side of his exposed neck. 

He’s quick to set up a rhythm, rushed and needy, plastering himself to Athe’s back. Then Visalin leans back with arms wrapped around his chest, forcing Athe to go with him, supporting his weight. Athe’s fingers grip the frame harder when the angle changes, toes curling with increased pressure on his spot and Visalin’s breath gets heavy when Athe tightens around him. Half lidded emerald eyes watch him in mirror’s reflection, corner of his mouth curled up in self satisfied smile. Visalin bites at his lip when he meets those eyes, the heat in them matching his and he shifts, nudging Athe’s legs further apart and thrusts harder, until Athe’s throat slowly goes raw with the noises he freely spills under his hands. A bit of makeup around his eyes gets smudged and Visalin thinks how easy it’ll be to let him finish now, how beautiful he’ll look in few moments calling his name, shuddering under him and he wants it to  _ last. _

Visalin stops moving, hands splayed on Athe’s heaving chest, fingers slipping down to dig on his hips. Holding him in place when he rocks back high on pleasure, complaint stuck in his throat when Visalin refuses to budge behind him. Breathing deeply and evenly, forcing himself to stay still when he wants to  _ take _ . 

“Do you want to play a bit more?” Visalin whispers straight to Athe’s ear, meeting his gaze in mirror. Strands of gold hair escaped his braid, swaying with every shift of his body and what a pretty picture they paint - rich freckled skin a contrast to his own paler one, Visalin’s long hair a silvery curtain whenever he bends over Athimelgara’s back, his own thick golden strands in a plait that will have to be redone.

He swallows and Visalin’s eyes snap to the bob of his throat, a nice bruise blooming on spot Visalin worked on earlier. 

“What do you have in mind?” Athe’s voice sounds scratchy and Visalin’s palm skitters down, light touch tickling his skin and he jerks at the sensation. Soft groan leaves his lips when it curls around his cock. He pumps him few times and Athe follows the motion with little thrusts Visalin allows, still not moving himself, before the fist on his dick tightens.

“You can come, but only after  _ I’m _ done,” Amber eyes hold emerald ones steadily, titillate of a spell under Visalin’s palm at ready, if Athimelgara says the word.

“Or you wait for your pleasure and I’ll fuck you during party,” The tip of Visalin’s tongue follows the line of Athe’s ear and his breath hitches when Athe  _ squeezes _ around him, the prospect of prolonged thrill coiling hot in his stomach.

“Either way, you’ll wear a plug, holding my come in until we can sneak away to remove it.”

Athe’s head rolls on his shoulder and he gnaws at his lower lip. “Put restraint on.” 

He sets the binding spell as soon as agreement slips from Athe’s lips, kissing the gasp from lovely reddened mouth, holding Athe’s jaw and drinking in his whine and sighing himself, when he starts to pull out and push in again. Athe exhales slowly when the silvery ropes of light sneak around his cock and balls, keeping him in place with just the right pressure. 

Visalin is planning on gaining speed steadily, but a glance at hourglass tells him he has to be quick if they want to make appearance in time. It’s easy to focus on the feeling of Athe’s body greedily sucking him in, the warmth and silkiness of skin, muscles twitching and shifting under his palms. He could come from the sounds Athe’s making alone, he briefly thinks, fingers digging on Athe’s waist as his hips snap few more times before Visalin gets his release. He hides his groan in his lover’s neck, teeth catching on freckled skin and Athe’s shoulders hunch up at the sting, but he doesn't relent, soothing it with silent charm.

Then with a flick of his wrist one of plugs materialises on his hand and he slowly pulls out, quickly but gently replacing his cock with silver toy, easing it into Athe’s tender entrance.

He kneels, thumbs dragging around the plug’s end and wipes off the skin, playfully kissing the buttcheek he kneads. Athimelgara shifts to look down at him with small pout that turns into smile, eyes a bit glassy but determined.

“You know you can call it off anytime,” Visalin says, placing a kiss on Athe’s hip and he stands up, taking hands that reach for him in both of his palms. 

“I know.” Athe sighs into short brush of their lips, “Now, help me with clothes and hair and we should be only a bit late.” His fingertips caress the bruise on his neck, not healing but covering it up with simple glamour.

Once their looks are perfected to a detail they unhurriedly make they way to the room where most of their guests would gather. Visalin trusts their servants do their job in keeping the informal atmosphere of the party light yet with right attention to wishes of attending it. There are few people already when they enter the room, the wide expanse of lovely garden opening the chamber on greens and splashes of colour. Gravel paths curve in between bushes and flowerbeds, leading to wonderful and few secret views. All plants are cared for by Athimelgara, as the garden is his own neverending project and the dedication he pours into tending it is definitely showing. Visalin enjoys spending leisure time in the garden, where the subtle feel of the magic of his vhenan is the strongest beside their shared bedroom.

They greet people already present, exchanging pleasantries and making small talk that soon changes into full blown mingle when more guests make their appearance and the room steadily fills up. House servants keep an eye on anyone thirsty or hungry, swiftly offering refreshments or pointing to right spots for the ones who wish to take a breath and sit down. Gentle music flows over their heads and Visalin glances at Athe from time to time during his conversation, finger slowly rubbing the smooth surface of his wine glass. Athimelgara doesn’t look any different than he usually does in situation like this one - carefully listening to the one he talks with, hint of a smile turning into full blown one, his dimples showing as he answers whatever question was pointed at him. Sometimes, when he forgets himself and gets immersed in the topic, he talks with his hands as much as he does with his mouth and today isn’t any different. Not a hint of discomfort on his face or too much red on his ears, nothing that could indicate something is off. Visalin’s proud of him and a bit of him regrets not upping the stakes with choosing the enchanted toy that would answer to his magic. A thought he stores for later, corner of his lips turning up as he catches Athe’s eye and turns back to his own conversation. 

Golden ornate cuffs on Athimelgara’s ears glint in mix of artificial and natural light when he moves, matching silver ones on Visalin’s ears, the jewelry elegant in its simplicity. Both of them wear their soul gem necklaces on subtle display, the cut of their clothes highlighting lines of their throats and seemingly delicate chains of stone pendants. Athe’s lovely form is wrapped in layers of light fabric, teal with white accents at the hem, looking like sea foam they saw often during their trip North. He thinks they should visit the white sand beaches soon just to witness the free and pure enjoyment on Athe’s face, even if Visalin seems to melt under merciless sun. Purchasing the small villa near Athimelgara’s favourite spots would make an excellent gift for their anniversary. 

The freckles on Athe’s skin seem to catch attention of many who glance at him, most of dark skin of his arms and back on display. It’s new development for some, an unexpected result of their magical experiments. One Athe decided to keep permanently after Visalin’s enthusiastic encouragement - he found out he liked to lose himself in counting little spots with his lips and fingers. 

Parts of Visalin’s long open skirt drag after him when he walks, light dark fabric brushing the floor. It dyes to indygo further up, the sash on Visalin’s waist hugging it and turning into tight fitting shirt with long sleeves, fabric on his arms slightly transparent and widening on his wrists. Small crystals weaved in material of his skirt catch the light whenever he shifts, gleaming softly like starry sky.

He reaches for Athimelgara’s elbow, cupping it lightly to catch his attention without startling him as he stands next to him, swiftly joining the conversation and steering both him and Athe out of it after few moments. 

His hand rests on the small of Athe’s back and Visalin signals at the nearest servant to refill their glasses, “Is your mother invited?” he murmurs, glancing around. A gentle sneer curls Athe’s lips, gone faster than it appeared when his fingers grip tighter at Athe’s hip, their sides touching.

“No, but she would invite herself anyway if she was in the area.”

Visalin nods, sipping at his wine. Athe shifts, soft breath tickling Visalin’s throat. “Everything alright?”

Athe answers with light smile, tilting his face up and Visalin wants nothing else than to claim those red lips right then and  _ now _ . He leans back when a sudden burst of laughter coming from woman talking with few others interrupts the haze he found himself in, feeling the shift in the air between them turning into heavy simmer from  _ before. _ Visalin lets a bit of his magic seep out and mingle with Athe’s own and the heat in his gut increases when Athe’s smile turns a bit strained around the edges, tips of his ears reddening visibly as the glamour covering his face slips.

“We’ll be expected to dance later.” Athe stiffens under his half embrace. 

“I forgot about that.” His voice wavers as he looks around them, then up at Visalin, emerald eyes glinting with hidden promise.

“Do you think we could…” He leaves off meaningfully and Visalin doesn’t need any more encouragement, fully wrapping his arm around Athe’s waist and deftly walking them out of the room without interruption. Faint whispers of the ones paying close attention to them follow, though most of the guests don’t notice them leaving.

Visalin leads them through corridor, ignoring rooms open to guests and Athe lets out a soft noise, letting his control to sizzle as they’re far away from the party crowd. Visalin bites the inside of his cheek to keep in the temptation to push Athe at nearest wall and devour him where anyone can see. Instead he turns sharply to the entrance at his right, flick of magic opening doors to a small study and Athe chokes on a gasp when the sudden motion makes the toy shift inside him. As soon as they’re behind tall and wide bookshelf acting as a partition to the room, Visalin’s lips crash with Athe’s, thigh slipping in between his legs, drinking up a needy moan blending with his own shaky groan. Visalin runs his hands at Athe’s sides, working on hidden buttons, brushing his palm over his groin making him buckle into the touch and his hands curl on the fabric of Visalin’s back. Athe bites at Visalin’s lower lip when he retreats, eyes gleaming and cheeks red, the glamour gone completely. 

He’s soaked when Visalin finally opens fastenings of his flowy pants, getting it out of the way along with layers of light skirts. The restraints he put on earlier to keep Athe’s now straining cock close to his body are still in place, his attire hiding any unwanted bumps at by and he wills them off. Without hesitation Visalin falls to his knees and swallows Athe in one glide and he muffles his shout with fist covering his lips. The feeling of hot and wet mouth on him so suddenly almost makes his legs buckle, though he grips the nearest shelf to keep himself up, messing the neat rows of books behind him. He squirms when the silver plug in him presses at his spot, Visalin’s hand holding the bottom of it, gently pushing it up and down, just as his mouth keeps working on his cock. Athe doesn’t cry out as freely as he would in their bedroom, faded noises of party carrying with a breeze through tilted windows facing the garden. But a sob grows in his chest when Visalin torments him so sweetly and he bites on his tongue when voices appear at the doors. His hand reaches for Visalin’s shoulder as he stands up, covering Athimelgara from any prying eyes with his own body, though the bookshelf gives them some privacy. As long as people now slowly stepping into the room won’t venture further to the left, busting their hiding spot. Athe’s eyes are wide in horrified excitement, the hard pounding of his heart under Visalin’s chest pressed to him matching in strength. His eyes widen further, fingers digging in his arms with mouth parted in silent plea of  _ “Wait, wait, wait!” _ when Visalin pulls the plug  _ out, _ vanishing it and shushes him with lick to his lips, wicked smirk in place. 

It’s not hard to hear murmurs of conversation, witty retort and throaty laugh, shifts of fabric and groan of furniture when they seem to sit down, voices lowering.

Sharp intake of breath from Athe is his only answer when he gently lifts his leg and holds it over his hip, their gazes unbroken as the tip of his cock catches on the rim of Athe’s hole, slowly  _ pushing _ in. He bites at his lip, eyes squeezing shut, fighting desperately to keep any traitorous noises in, almost failing when Visalin’s hips jerk up with more force. Visalin pants softly, keeping some of his attention to people on the other side of room, but his focus strays to the feel of Athimelgara’s insides clutching at him as well as the look on his face. Lust battles with embarrassment, the blush spreading down his throat, but he still hasn’t said his  _ word _ to make Visalin stop completely. He keeps still when he’s finally as deep as their position lets them, nuzzling Athe’s neck and licking a stripe up to his earcuffs, relishing in the answering shudder and aborted roll of his hips. The people sitting at the other side of the room seem to make themselves at home, their voices picking up in volume and Visalin uses the moment to curl his arm under Athe’s other leg. Magic playing just under his skin easily supports his move and in a second both of Athe’s legs are wrapped around his waist, the strength of his sculpted thighs almost crushing and Visalin welcomes the distraction to calm himself before he comes too early.

He stares at Athimelgara as he grinds into him, their breaths mixing and Athe’s arms tighten around his shoulders, moist lips mouthing at thin fabric on the crook of his neck when Athe hides his face in it. Fingers tangle in his hair, twin braids at his temples keeping the silver strands out of his eyes and after few slow and careful thrusts he snaps his hips up, feeling Athe’s scream stuck in his chest. But a whimper escapes his throat anyway and the conversation suddenly shushes, curious voices nearing. 

Visalin’s widened eyes meet Athe’s panicked ones and he’s _ this _ close to unleash a spell to glamour them both, when a third voice from the doors calls after people who are just a step around the corner. They both hold their breaths until the footsteps and voices fade, doors closing with a click. Athe’s heels dig into the small of his back almost painfully before he unwraps his legs and Visalin lets go of his thighs.

He nearly tumbles back when Athe shoves at him, knees buckling when they meet the edge of sofa and he doesn’t even have the time to protest when Athe’s on him, strong thighs straddling him, taking his cock back without hesitation, “Close the door,” he orders in between pants, eyes a bit wild.

The spell he aims at the door to seal them off goes a bit astray, frost creeping around the frame and at the part of the tapestry, but he doesn't mind at the moment, not when Athe so eagerly bounces in his lap. Noises spilling out of his throat, using him for his own pleasure and he relishes in it, bucking up when Athe goes down, joining their hands over Athe’s length. They both work him through his finish, Athe’s body going impossibly tight around him and he loses it as well with a soft cry muffled with a sloppy kiss.

“I can't believe you did that.” 

Athimelgara sags against Visalin, his thighs finally giving in after his orgasm washes over him, pleasant tremors making his limbs relaxed and heavy. Visalin tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling as he catches his breath, his thumbs circling soothingly on skin of Athe’s legs cradling his hips. 

“But you liked it?” He nips lazily at delicate skin under his jaw.

The smile of his vhenan is both satisfied and bashful. “Yes. Though next time  _ I’m  _ the one who pulls the strings.” Visalin chuckles and nods, eyes half closed and he grunts when Athe moves up and back, his softened cock slipping out of him. Visalin licks his lips at the immediate tickle of white appearing on dark freckled inner thighs. Athe stands a bit unsteadily. 

“I can help you with-”

“No.” Athe pushes at his chest when he lunges to reach for him and flicks his wrist, the stains on the front of Visalin’s robes vanishing, as well as the thin layer of perspiration on his skin. He stays where he is when Athe steps back, amber eyes tracking his every move as he closes his pants, straightening what he can of his skirts. “You’re going back to our guests and I’m going to clean myself up. Alone.” He squints at him playfully, tapping at the wall until it shimmers under his touch, one of the portals opening up to lead him straight to their private chambers. “You owe me a dance.” He says with a smile and steps into the portal that closes as soon as he crosses it.

Visalin sighs, running his hands through his hair, stretching before he gets up and sorts his outfit to presentable look. Summons and uses few drops of his usual perfumed water, fixes his hair and delicate lines of gold eyeliner around his eyes before small mirror and holds his chin up, defrosting the entrance.

He can’t wait to have Athimelgara in his arms again.


	8. Shoulder kiss (Aether x Vergil) sfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aether belongs to @smolpocketmonstercoffee on tumblr (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

The window is open and small breeze ruffles the gauzes, twisted on beams of their four poster bed, both of them sitting on it, working in silence. Vergil frowns slightly at the contents of letter in his hand, shifting to curl up one of his leg. He leans his right shoulder on the bed’s poster, trying to decipher what the author of this exceptionally thick letter had in mind. He rubs at his eyes when they water a bit after a yawn he barely managed to keep in, but continues to read, even if he feels a shadow of a headache looming at the back of his head. He shouldn’t take work to bed, he knows this. And usually, he never does, but today’s an exception and he knows Aether understands, busy with writing in his own journal.

Aether just shook his head with a soft smile when both of the re-emerged fresh and clean from the bathroom and Vergil looked at the untouched pile of papers on his desk. 

Definitely a new one, because he could swear he did that one already, and new stock materialized, just as both of them were done with their shared bath. Aether silently brushed his fingers at Vergil’s wrist and went to grab his notebook, sitting among pillows with his back to the headboard, knees up to rest the opened journal.

Strands of his messily pinned up hair keep getting in Vergil’s eyes and he absently brushes them behind his ear, eyes narrowed, corners of his mouth turned down. Vergil blinks again when his sight seems to blurry and he can’t stifle another yawn and rolls his shoulders, sleeping shirt slipping a bit on his left and he briefly makes a face when the material sticks to the scarred skin, soaking bits of numbing cream Aether applied on it earlier. With utmost care, unhurriedly and precisely. Vergil let him take his time, idly watching him work, feeling the constant itch changing into simple pressure of his touch, when his fingers carefully spreaded herb smelling balm. Aether’s own recipe, one that he perfected over the years and one that actually worked. It didn’t irritate the skin further or made the numbness turn into the feeling of wooden limb. For that Vergil was grateful. He’s used to the constant pull and prickle of skin with every move, the scars long healed, both bumpy and smooth, but still tender reminder of rushed, makeshift spell. At least he still can use the arm fairly normal with very minimal setbacks.

Vergil is so immersed in his reading, that he stiffens when the bed dips behind him, but then relaxes instantly as subtle smell of Aether’s bathing powder hits his nose. He drapes himself slowly at Vergil’s back, arms wrapping around his middle, leaning forward to plant soft, lingering kiss on the fabric over his left shoulder. Aether tilts his head, nuzzling briefly into Vergil’s neck, lips pressed for a moment to his throat, before he rests his chin on Vergil’s shoulder, sighing briefly. The arms around Vergil tighten when he leans back into Aether’s embrace, gently bumping his cheek with Aether’s temple.

“I’ll be finished in a minute,” he murmurs, lips brushing Aether’s brow and he can feel Aether’s soft hum, his chest snugly pressed to his back.


	9. Zevran (sfw)

Zevran doesn’t break his promises, because they’re  _ his _ to give.

He never had anything that really belonged to him. If he did, it was taken away, as a lesson and a price for him to continue breathing. Armor, weapons, body, coins? They’re an equipment he has to use to make  _ himself _ useful. The little coin he earns he spends almost immediately. Why would he save it if he isn’t sure he’ll live tomorrow?

Future?

What future, it’s only now, nearest hour, maybe even today.

He has nothing, but his word,  _ a word of an assassin _ , so he honors it, even if others think it silly.

“ _ What worth has a word of paid killer?” _

He’s wary with how he gives it, playing with words when he doesn’t want to promise, careful with any pledge he makes, because he learnt his lesson on what happens, when he can’t be sure to keep it.

_ broken pleas his hands sticky with cooling blood trust were there any trust in the first place whose tears ever look pretty it’s only ugly in the end now he knows how a stab in the heart really feels like so he dies with her _

“I have faith in my friends well enough. Faith that they will one day stab me in my back” he says, the twisted sense of camaraderie, but in the end he’s alone, always clawing at others to stay on top to live another day. He secretly dreads the time when he’s not needed, isn’t able enough to stay a weapon.

And when he makes a choice to end this existence because her spilled blood and accusing eyes haunt his dreams and waking hours, making everything washed, dull, unimportant-

_he killed dozens with his own hands with some drank slept with was their friend why does this one mattered so much_ _a traitor a mistake he is nothing weapons are expendable when they break they broken and forged him anew one time too many_

And he takes on the risky contract that is his chance to end him as well, with his own sloppy planning, uncaring about his safety, taking stupid risks on purpose, desperately flirting with danger and death and quietly hoping it’ll hit it’s limit and devour him all. It can’t end well, _ it just can’t _ , he’ll meet his end in the mud, in a place smelling of dogs and rotting vegetables, where people are grey as the weather of this cursed country and sneer at him more than he’s used to.

And when it doesn’t end, because by some miracle-

_ you won’t die young the fortunteller says a visible astonishment on her wrinkled face and he laughs and drinks what’s in his bottle tossing few coins and dancing away _

When he has a closer look at his captors he suddenly doesn’t want to die like this, like what, a slab of meat for slaughter in the mud, bloody bruised, at someone’s mercy?

_ all his life at someone’s mercy with an illusion of a choice a choice to refuse and die or comply and try to stay alive _

And his treacherous tongue makes a fools offer that gives him one more moment of life, one more hour, day, week-

_ he’s waiting for a blow all the time and is deeply troubled when it doesn’t come because in previous life he would do it without hesitation he’d done it without hesitation _

Because he has nothing to offer but his skill and body, so when he says to the aloof Warden that he’s _ “his man, without reservation”  _ he discovers, that he means it, that he  _ gives _ his word and  _ intends _ to keep it for how long he’s treated like even a little bit of a person, not only a weapon - “I’m quite loyal myself until someone starts to threaten my life.”

What value is in the word of the assassin that failed to kill you?

He sees the doubt in Warden’s calculating eyes, but still the mage doesn’t put an end to his life, giving him a chance to prove that his word is worth something, even if his life isn’t.


End file.
